


Maturity and Mischief

by Dedicate Kiwicrocus (cranky__crocus)



Series: SMACKDOWN '11 Round Two - Team Discipline [31]
Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/F, Gen, Goldenlake, smackdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-02
Updated: 2011-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-20 01:21:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cranky__crocus/pseuds/Dedicate%20Kiwicrocus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing kept a person young like a never-ending stream of children and a partner with the heart and mischief of a kid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maturity and Mischief

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SMACKDOWN at Goldenlake: fiefgoldenlake.proboards.com

Rosethorn once thought Lark would grow out of her mischief—from the chaotic grown child she had been in the days of her novitiate to a matured, structured dedicate. And perhaps it was true: Lark _had_ matured, but that wasn’t to say the rest had left; it just hid sometimes, when the moment called for it. Now Rosethorn just smiled and shook her head to think she had believed a person grew out of such a trait, or for the rare moments of wishing that the woman would. Lark’s behaviour was not a reflection on Rosethorn, and so it was not her business to be embarrassed.

            She watched Lark playing outside with Little Bear and Glaki—or she watched where she knew Lark _was_ , hiding behind the tree again.

            Rosethorn wondered, now, why she would have ever wanted Lark to grow beyond mirthful mischief. She herself, after all, had scarcely outgrown crankiness.

            Glaki ran around the garden—Rosethorn winced—and saw Lark behind the tree. The woman jumped out, _yaskedasi_ veil around her neck to comfort the girl, and hollered, “You found me!” as if in utmost agony; she fell to the ground, where Glaki piled on her. Rosethorn chuckled.

            Lark was simultaneously the oldest and youngest person Rosethorn had ever known. Lark had the potential for endless maturity, but could equally possess the agile lightness and imagination of a child, her mischief included in both. It was quite clearly not something worth growing out of.

            “Now you go hide,” Lark murmured; Rosethorn heard it with assistance from her eaves-dropping vines. Glaki squealed and ran off again. Lark was at Rosethorn’s side soon after.

            “How long should I wait this time?” she wondered, eyes set to sparkling. “She already has more patience than most academic mages I’ve seen…”

            “Double it,” Rosethorn agreed, smirking. “Give her five minutes. I’ll make you some tea.” She squeaked when Lark poked her bottom and glared over a shoulder, though she couldn’t stop her laughter. “You are an utter pest.”

            “Says the woman who won’t play hide-and-seek with me anymore.”

            “I was a novice!”

            “A novice who had more fun.” Lark leaned back in her chair and suddenly Rosethorn could see, beyond the wrinkling skin and hooded eyes, the shining light of Paraskeve’s humour. Rosethorn rolled her eyes—and in the action felt the surging presence of old Niva; she snorted.

            “Perhaps. If you’re good I may even join the game after tea.”

            Lark whistled through her grin. “Won’t that be something.”

            Rosethorn smiled at the kettle on the hearth. Nothing kept a person young like a never-ending stream of children and a partner with the heart and mischief of a ‘right proper’ _kid_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! C:


End file.
